


Only Option

by Jalules



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 22:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20919749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jalules/pseuds/Jalules
Summary: The last time Felix can remember being legitimately carefree and happy is when he was seven, which would make Sylvain ten.





	Only Option

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to write something with ace spectrum felix and then i got carried away with all the yearning bc i'm a sucker for friends to lovers
> 
> might do an explicit partner piece someday bc i am even MORE of a sucker for communication and negotiation regarding romance, sex, and kinks
> 
> anyway. this is soft.
> 
> Open for commissions, ghost writing, and tarot readings [here.](https://juliaheslin.com/)

_ : _

  
  


The last time Felix can remember being legitimately carefree and happy is when he was seven, which would make Sylvain ten. It makes sense, in retrospect, because by the age of eleven Sylvain had taken on worries, which made an eight year old Felix worry too, on behalf of his friend. He never stopped worrying about Sylvain after that either, no matter how much of a pleasant and untroubled performance Sylvain put on for the world at large.

But seven; at seven, Felix spends another in a long string of summers trailing after Sylvain, hurrying with his significantly smaller gait to try and be forever at the other boy's side. The youngest of all his friends, even, frustratingly, Ingrid (though only by one measly month,) Felix is always at risk of being left out. His brother Glenn, as much as he loves him, seems to forget Felix at times, too focused on his own responsibilities as an eldest son.

Sylvain, however, a second son like himself, always seems happy for Felix's company. The age difference between them, about two and a half years, is barely noticeable when they're together. They operate as equals, just two kids having fun.

For those warm, sunny months every year, Felix is practically attached to Sylvain's hip, always looking up to him, waiting for whatever clever, charming thing he has to say. They race each other through open fields and get underfoot at political meetings, play elaborate games of pretend and sneak out at night to sit under the stars.

On one of those nights, as Felix lies in the grass pouting over the realization that once the season ends, they won't be able to spend as much time together, Sylvain grins at him and insists that the time away will go by before they knew it.

"You'll likely visit me for the next feast holiday anyway." Sylvain tells him with a smug, knowing look, "I heard my father saying so."

"I want to visit you for all the holidays." Felix sighs. Sylvain is his favorite person in the world, though he's never said so, not quite in those words. It seems unfair to Glenn and his father to admit it.

"Maybe someday you can," Sylvain suggests cheerfully, "When we're grown up and run our own houses."

Felix beams back at him, delighted at the idea of being old enough to make choices for himself. If he had his way, he'd leave all the noble trappings of his life behind and just explore the countryside with Sylvain.

"I'll just make you move to my house." Felix reasons, "So we never have to be apart."

Sylvain nods his approval, "I like the way you think, Felix."

That night they make a promise to always be together, to die at the same time so they never have to be without each other. It's one of those dramatic conversations, the type children sometimes have about things they don't fully understand. 

Things are simple and stay that way for a while, but not nearly long enough.

  
  
  
  


The summer Sylvain turns twelve feels staunchly different from years before. By then, his worries have solidified to a strange sort of resignation that Felix finds puzzling. He watches Sylvain go from brooding to falsely cheery in turns and wonders why he doesn't just tell anyone what's really on his mind.

Worse, Felix can feel Sylvain drifting from him. Despite their agreement to spend as much together as they can, Sylvain begins avoiding Felix in little ways. For the first time, Sylvain dismisses Felix as " _ too young _ " to understand something. He's writing in a little leather bound journal, a gift for his recent birthday, and snaps it shut, the ink still wet and smudging, when Felix tries to read over his shoulder.

"You shouldn't see these kinds of words yet." Sylvain tells him, smirking as Felix stews in confused frustration, "They're not for kids."

"You're a kid too!" Felix argues, but Sylvain shakes his head and sighs.

"You're nine." He says, "You've never even kissed anyone."

Felix is stricken. Kissing? Like couples do? Of course he hasn't kissed anyone, it's gross and he doesn't want to.

"Have  _ you _ kissed someone?" He asks, his tone accusatory.

_ _ Sylvain frowns, tucking the journal away in his belt, "Forget it."

Felix tries to. The conversation never quite leaves his mind, but by the next day when he asks Sylvain to go swimming with him and Ingrid, the disagreement has blown over.

  
  
  
  


Sylvain keeps learning about more adult things, though, and as he enters his teen years the distance between him and Felix only grows. He hangs around Glenn more, though Felix isn't sure why; Glenn is great and all, but he and Sylvain don't seem to do anything fun. They just linger around the kitchens, stealing snacks and making the serving girls giggle.

Eleven years old, Felix has at least caught on to some of the adult topics Sylvain is so well versed in, but that doesn't mean he's interested in them. He doesn't care to see any of the risque drawings Sylvain snuck out of his father's private library, the ink illustrations of knights and ladies in waiting drawn in scandalous positions holding no appeal for him.

Sylvain claims to get his information about sexual matters from sources other than just those old drawings too, but he won't clarify just what those sources are when Felix tries to pry.

"I hang out with grown ups." Is all Sylvain will tell him.

Felix rolls his eyes, "You mean Miklan hangs out with grown ups."

Sylvain's older brother is rough and unsmiling, always coming across as something of a bully. He's blatantly jealous of the attention Sylvain gets simply by virtue of being charming, and then there's the matter or his crest to drive a wedge between the two. Despite Sylvain's growing flaws, if Felix had to pick a side, it's clear who would win his loyalty. 

Sylvain's cheeks color in annoyance, "He doesn't know anything." He says hotly enough that the anger catches Felix off guard. A moment later the smug smile is back, masking some deeper discomfort, "And neither do you."

"I know where babies come from." Felix counters, and is immediately annoyed when Sylvain laughs him off.

He does though! He knows, vaguely, what married couples do on their wedding night. Frankly, the process sounds even less appealing than kissing.

"There is a  _ lot _ more to sex than just making babies." Sylvain says, and when Felix doesn't immediately look away from him in disgust, he goes on, "Like, with tongues and stuff."

Felix makes a gagging expression, horrified at the suggestion. First kissing, and now more mouth stuff? "That sounds gross."

"You might not think so when you're older." Sylvain says with a shrug.

Felix shakes his head. It sounds gross forever and always, "Why do people want to have… sex? Or even get married at all?" He frowns, thoughtful, "I don't understand betrothals."

Sylvain tenses a bit. The matter of betrothal has always been a part of their lives, but distantly. Now, as they get older, it's brought up more and more often. Adults don't stop discussing it just because they enter the room, and the particulars of Ingrid's betrothal to Glenn have been an especially popular topic lately.

"I… don't know how I feel about betrothals." Sylvain says carefully, though the pained tone in his voice gives Felix the impression he doesn't like them at all, "At least Ingrid lucked out with Glenn though, right?" He shrugs good naturedly, expression softening to a fond smile, "He's a good person. Plus he's handsome."

Felix blinks in surprise, his upper lip curling in distaste. Handsome? He's heard plenty of people compliment his brother before, mostly for being brave and strong, but handsome? 

"What?" Sylvain asks, seeing his face and going on the defensive, "I can't say a guy is handsome?"

Felix flushes hotly at the question for reasons he can't discern in the moment, "No! It's just. He's my brother, I don't want to think about him like that."

Sylvain is quiet for a moment before cracking an amused smile, "Fair enough." His smile grows, the intent to tease clear on his face, "Now don't go getting jealous, Felix. I'm sure you'll grow up to be handsome too."

The heat in Felix's face intensifies. Too indignant to summon words, he just gives Sylvain a punch in the arm before stalking off, feeling as though he might go up in flames for reasons he cannot comprehend.

  
  
  
  


"I hope it won't make things uncomfortable between us." Ingrid tells Felix as they idly pluck dandelions from the grass surrounding the training grounds, "I've heard some marriage arrangements can be dreadful. But it's Glenn, so…."

She trails off, sighing in a daydreamy fashion that's rather unlike her.

At twelve, Ingrid is talking more openly about her engagement to Glenn. She can go on for what feels to Felix like hours about how incredibly noble he is, how he's everything a knight should be despite the fact that he's still just a squire.

Technically he's part of the team protecting the royal family, though, and that  _ is _ fairly impressive. When Felix thinks of his brother standing guard over Dmitri, the strange little prince, he can't contain a slight swell of jealousy. For all the good Glenn is doing, he wishes he were home more.

Felix flicks a seeping flower stem at Ingrid, catching her in the shoulder and staining her already dust covered tabard, "Why would it be uncomfortable? We all get along."

He figures he'll be happy to have Ingrid as a sister in law. She's a good friend and an even better fighter. Whether or not she's married to his older brother seems inconsequential, but if he had to pick between some random girl and Ingrid, he'd pick her.

"You like Glenn, right?" He asks casually, checking in just in case her opinion has changed overnight, as his sometimes does. Glenn can, after all, be a pain sometimes, in the way that older brothers often are.

Ingrid's cheeks go instantly pink in a way Felix never sees, even when she's overexerted herself in training.

"I am..." She says, choosing her words carefully, eventually settling on, "Fond of him."

Felix gives her a puzzled look, " _ Fond? _ " The word sounds like a disease when he says it.

Ingrid's shoulders stiffen, "Yes, Felix, fond. As a young lady should be of her betrothed."

Felix gets the impression that he's said something wrong but he isn't sure what. It's happening more and more often lately, where he misspeaks and ends up with someone annoyed.

"I just meant if you're friends or not." He clarifies snippily.

For a moment Ingrid looks as though she might get testy as well, escalating the misunderstanding to an argument. But then she takes a breath and shakes her head, cooling down immediately. Ingrid is better than Felix at that, at keeping her temper.

"Felix, do you understand why it's embarrassing for you to ask me something like that?" When she's met with a blank stare, she explains, only growing slightly flustered as she does so, "You must  _ know _ how I feel about Glenn."

"I know you admire him," Felix reasons, "You say so all the time."

"Then it should be obvious that I like him." Ingrid says quietly, as though it's a secret just between the two of them.

"Then why are you being so weird about it?" Felix demands, crushing a dandelion head in the palm of his hand.

Ingrid lowers her voice even more, to a harsh whisper, "Because it's  _ humiliating _ to have someone draw attention to a-- an infatuation!"

Felix abruptly drops his handful of pulverized flower petals. Infatuation? Like… being in  _ love _ with someone?

"Don't look so surprised, Felix." Ingrid says, regaining her composure as she brushes bits of stray greenery from her lap, "We are betrothed, after all."

Felix feels his stomach sink in fear.

Is that what it means to like someone romantically? To be betrothed? He's heard enough gossip to know that an engagement doesn't necessarily mean two people are in love. He has aunts and uncles and cousins who all sneer at their spouses, unhappily married.

But admiring someone? Being preoccupied with them the way Ingrid so often is with Glenn? Is  _ that _ infatuation? If so, then the way Ingrid feels about his older brother isn't really so different than the way he feels about--

Felix can feel hit face heating up with the realization. He doesn't want it to be true, but there's no denying the way his heart races, nervous energy flooding through him.

"Whatever." He tells Ingrid flippantly, getting up and walking away as if he's lost interest. In reality he just doesn't want her to see him panic.

He  _ likes _ Sylvain, the way Ingrid likes Glenn, the way someone would ideally feel about their  _ betrothed _ . But Sylvain isn't his betrothed, he's his best friend, and a boy, and besides that, he can't possibly feel the same way about Felix.

At fifteen,Sylvain is gaining a name for himself as an unrepentant flirt. Every girl he meets is a new opportunity to test his charms, and the whole display of eyelash batting and giggling makes Felix nauseous.

Felix still has his conversation with Ingrid in mind the next time he sees Sylvain. The two of them pass a rainy afternoon indoors, idly flipping through old books on battle strategy in the Fraldarius library and retaining little of the information.

Felix prefers to learn through speeches and demonstrations than from reading, and Sylvain doesn't seem particularly interested in learning at all. He's far too preoccupied with his own social life, one that involves Felix less and less, to care about much else.

"Noble girls are such a bother." Sylvain complains, but in a tone of voice that suggests he's actually bragging, "They're all so needy and annoying. Except for Ingrid, of course."

Felix nods, relieved to hear that Sylvain still approves of their mutual friend, "Most people are annoying." He says.

Including Sylvain;  _ especially _ Sylvain, but that doesn't stop Felix from seeking him out.

"I really prefer spending time with the kitchen girls. They're  _ fun. _ " He winks, unphased by Felix's persistent frown, "Most of them, anyway. A few of them have gone cold on me all of a sudden."

"Probably because they realized you're talking to  _ all  _ the girls."

Sylvain shrugs, "I can't resist talking to pretty girls. It's not my fault they're all pretty."

Felix rolls his eyes, "Who cares if they're pretty? If you don't like noble girls just don't talk to them."

Sylvain goes quiet for a moment, flipping the pages of the book in front of him without reading them. Finally, he says, "It's not that easy. I'm  _ supposed _ to talk to them."

"Why?"

Sylvain sighs, sounding awfully weary for a teenager, "Well I'm expected to marry one of them someday, aren't I?"

Felix tenses. They'll all be expected to marry someday, but it's more important for some than others. With Glenn already arranged to be married and carry on the family name, no one has so much as mentioned marriage to Felix. Sylvain is different though. Even though he's a second son like Felix, he's the Gautier with a crest, and that counts for more than anything.

If someone marries Sylvain, they'll have a better chance of having a baby with a crest. It's a strange way to think about a betrothal, especially one involving a friend, but that's just how political marriages work. Felix understands that much.

It doesn't mean he's okay with it.

"Do you like them or not?" He asks, careful to avoid eye contact. What he really wants to ask is if Sylvain likes  _ anyone _ in a romantic way, but he can't even imagine forcing the words out.

"Not particularly." Sylvain says, and shuts his book decisively before turning to face Felix with a smile, "If I have to marry a noble, maybe I'd be better off courting a guy. I get along fine with all my male friends."

Felix's face goes hot. He dares to meet Sylvain's eyes, seeing the spark of humor there.

"I'd make a good husband, right Felix?" He asks, and the question hangs in the air for a moment before he shrugs and shakes his head, dismissive of his own thought. "Ah, but we couldn't produce an heir, and that's all that matters to people… What a shame."

Felix stands up in a hurry, leaving his books open and askew. His face is burning, his heart is pounding. 

Sylvain is just teasing. He's  _ always _ teasing.

"It's all a joke to you, isn't it." He says sharply, and strides away as quick as he can, leaving Sylvain blinking after him.

  
  
  
  
  


Glenn dies when Felix and Ingrid are thirteen.

It's a shock, though it probably shouldn't be. Knights are killed all the time. It's a life path full of risk and danger, and they all knew there was a possibility that Glenn could be hurt, or worse, when he went to work protecting the royal family.

But Glenn had always seemed invincible, or at least too  _ good _ to have anything so  _ bad _ happen to him. The incident at Duscur is a bloodbath, and Glenn, just a young man doing his best, was just as mortal as anyone else. Glenn dies and leaves the rest of them behind.

They gather and light candles, praying to the goddess over a place where nothing is buried because no one even managed to bring Glenn's body home. Some people cry, and others argue, and some stand silent, looking lost.

Ingrid is stoic. She believes that Glenn died a death of honor, as a knight should. She stands in her dark, somber dress, without a trace of dirt or wear around the hem, while the adults in her family frantically whisper behind her back about arranging another match.

Felix is  _ not _ stoic. He is so, so furious and heartbroken and no one seems to understand. Not his father, who is just as proud of Glenn's grisly death as he was about everything his oldest son ever did in life. Not Ingrid, who has already bought into the same nonsense about being a good knight. Not his more distant relatives and their friends, who shake their heads and sigh at what a pity it is to lose a good man so young.

Glenn's death isn't noble or brave or even pitiable, it's just sad. Just sad. And Felix feels that sadness, that grief, so fully that he can barely hold himself together.

Sylvain though-- Sylvain might understand. He doesn't say so in as many words, but he  _ acts _ as though he understands. He stands by, being uncharacteristically quiet and non judgemental while Felix breaks things out of anger and cries for hours, until he is exhausted, from sorrow.

Though Felix hates being so vulnerable in front of anyone, especially someone he likes so much and would rather like to impress, but Sylvain is so kind about it all, he almost forgets to be prickly and uncomfortable.

When Sylvain is around, things are a little better. It's always been that way, but now, with everything else in his life falling apart, it's more true than ever.

  
  
  
  
  


Sylvain can't hang around with him forever though, and grief doesn't fade away in just a year.

Felix ends up crying again, alone this time, when he's fourteen and Glenn is still dead and Sylvain isn't even around because he's older and has to go to the academy before him _ . _

His father infuriates him. He infuriates  _ himself _ . Nothing feels right. He trains relentlessly, just to have something to do, and tries not to imagine plunging his sword into the guts of whoever killed Glenn. 

He resolves not to cry anymore, not because it's unmanly or anything stupid like that, but because it's tiring and he hates to be so exhausted.

When he finally sees Sylvain again, visiting house Gautier with his father while the academy is on break, he barely gets to spend any time with him due to the cluster or girls that surround Sylvain wherever he goes.

He watches from across the room during a feast, picking at his food and scowling at the way Sylvain smiles indulgently as a neighboring noble woman practically shoves her nervous daughter into his lap at an attempt at an introduction.

Sylvain said he didn't particularly like noble girls, but he doesn't act like it. He takes the young woman's hand and kisses the back of it, maintaining eye contact all the while. He laughs when she blushes beet red and sends her and her overbearing mother on their way with a gracious bow.

Not five minutes later there's another young woman on his arm, laughing delightedly while he grins that same indulgent smile.

Felix stabs a potato with his fork, sitting silent and alone.

Eventually the majority of the guests leave, and Sylvain finds time to grace Felix with his presence. He comes to find him in the garden, where it's really too cold to be sitting, but Felix is bundled up in his coat and contemplating the night sky.

"Hey." Sylvain greets him, sounding tired.

He looks tired too, when Felix glances up at him from where he's seated beside a frost covered flower bed. He looks the way Felix feels; worn out from the effort of just being around other people. Normally Sylvain thrives in a party, but Felix supposes even he must have his limits.

"What?" Felix can't help the defensive tone of his voice. He's… hurt. He hates that he's hurt, but that doesn't change the truth of it.

Sylvain starts for a moment, seeming as though he might argue, but ultimately all he says is, "I missed you."

And just like that, Felix melts. The bitterness that has consumed him every day that he's been alone breaks like a fever. His voice cracks embarrassingly when he speaks, "You too."

Sylvain sits down beside him, close enough that their shoulders brush, and shivers briefly at the cold of the stone path.

Felix shivers too, not from the cold.

"How are you holding up?" Sylvain asks.

Felix shrugs, "Not great."

"I'm sorry." Sylvain says, soft and sincere.

Felix just shrugs again, "Nothing to be done for it."

Sylvain sighs, says nothing. He puts an arm around Felix's stiff shoulders, his touch light, but the weight of him is comforting.

Slowly, Felix relaxes. He nearly succumbs to the urge to lean over into Sylvain's side and let himself be held, but his pride won't allow it. They stay like that until their legs begin to grow numb against the cold, hard ground. The night is quiet around them, and Sylvain only moves when Felix does.

They head back inside together, silent, steps apart, and as warmth creeps back into his fingers and toes, Felix wishes they could have stayed just like that all night.

  
  
  
  
  


They don't see much of each other for a while. Sylvain has classes to attend and Felix must stay at home, itching to follow him to the academy. Soon, but not soon enough, he'll be there himself. Until then he busies himself with weaponry, mastering the blade as best he can on his own, and avoiding his other friends.

It's strange being around Ingrid now, hearing her voice her desire to live the life of a knight and die the same bloody, honorable death that Glenn did.

Dmitri, in the rare times he sees him, is beastly to be around. He was always strange when they were children, a little awkward, but now, as teenagers, after everything that happened in Duscur, the things he saw, he becomes wild and angry in turns. He's unpredictable; something Felix doesn't care for at all.

When Felix has to be around other boys his age, which unfortunately happens rather more than he likes as the politics of the country shift and alliances are made and broken, he is markedly uncomfortable.

Other fifteen year old boys seem primarily interested in topics of girls and sex, much like Sylvain was at that age, but Felix doesn't see the appeal. They gather in secretive clusters while their parents meet to discuss matters of state, and talk ad nauseum about whose breasts they've seen, how much time they spend touching their own genitals, and what their cousin's best friend's brother supposedly did with a pair of milk maids on a summer night.

Girls have not become any more interesting to Felix over time, masturbation is more of a chore than a hobby, and he doesn't care to hear anyone's dirty gossip.

He quickly gains a reputation as a killjoy; it's a reputation he's quite content to live up to. Better, he thinks, to appear boring and unfriendly, than to exhaust himself pretending to care for things that don't interest him.

The girls his age learn to avoid him, too, recognizing his lack of interest and knowing better than to leave themselves open to his cold remarks. He has no interest in flirting or being arranged into a marriage, regardless of his position as the heir of Fraldarius or the crest that he carries.

He does let a boy kiss him, just once, against his better judgement. He's approached under the guise of practicing for when they'll have to court someone in the future, though the way the other boy blushes and trembles, Felix suspects he may just be attracted to him.

He isn't sure what to think of that. He should probably feel proud, or flustered, or amused, but all he can muster is a vague curiosity. He's never considered himself desirable in any way, but he has grown up to look rather like his brother, who was hailed as a good looking young man.

Sylvain had said so once, suggesting that Felix would be handsome too, and it set his heart aflutter. Perhaps it's that comment that's on his mind, the thought of Sylvain chasing after any pretty face he sees, that convinces Felix to allow a brief moment of contact.

The other boy touches his cheek lightly, leaning in close to brush their lips together. It feels… not unpleasant, but not very satisfying either. The fingers that brush from his cheekbone down to his chin illicit more of a shiver than the kiss itself, and after a moment of pause, there is a second press of their lips that feels just as uneventful as the first.

Felix blinks as the other boy sighs and lingers close, seeming to wait for an opportunity to kiss him again, but it doesn't come.

They move away from each other uncertainly, and he sees that the other boy is quite flushed, his gaze hyper focused, lingering on Felix's mouth.

They don't try it again. Felix, feeling nothing, wonders if there's something wrong with him.

  
  
  
  
  


At seventeen, Felix is settling into the routine of living at the academy. The monastery is a welcome change from the boredom of home, and seeing Ingrid every day in the halls, while they might not see eye to eye on many matters, is nice.

He sees Sylvain every day too, and that should be just as nice. Unfortunately, in their time apart, Sylvain has somehow uncovered the secrets to getting on Felix's very last nerve.

Before making the trip to the monastery, Felix had been more excited to see Sylvain than he had been for anything in a long time. Now though, months into his stay, he wonders how he could have ever been so naive as to expect things between them to be anything like the way they used to be.

Twenty years old, Sylvain looks every bit of the adult he has become, but his behavior is immature and irritating. He wastes time rather than study, skips out on training sessions, and openly flirts with every woman he sees.

It makes Felix's blood boil. He can't pin down  _ why _ , exactly-- well, alright, perhaps he can. But the truth of it is incredibly embarrassing. He hates to think that he is the kind of person who can be so bothered by jealousy, but it's unbelievably frustrating living alongside Sylvain and watching him shower attention on others.

He's under no illusions about his relationship with Sylvain; they're old friends, that's all, but that doesn't make it any easier to stand idly by while Sylvain makes an ass of himself over and over again.

He's like a different person now, or rather, he never stops  _ performing _ now. What used to be an act reserved for parties and introductions to the daughters of distant nobles has become a near-constant state of being. It's difficult enough having feelings for someone who doesn't seem to notice or care, but it's even worse to see a dear friend behave like a pretend version of himself that, at best, makes Felix uncomfortable, and at worst, makes him wonder if Sylvain is even really his friend.

"The rumors about me around here are overblown." Sylvain assures him, smiling across a dining hall table, "I promise I'm not a total lecher."

"Could have fooled me." Felix huffs. The rumors in question are as prevalent as they are varied, ranging from believable tales of Sylvain sneaking girls back to his room to absolutely preposterous stories about orgies under the moonlight. At the end of the day it doesn't matter to Felix if any, or even all, of the rumors are true. It's Sylvain's business who he sleeps with and what trouble he gets into.

Sylvain frowns, hurt, and for a moment Felix feels guilty, but it passes as soon as his friend opens his mouth.

"I really don't get around as much as people think." He says, "I'm man enough to admit that."

Felix pushes away his plate, signalling to Sylvain that he's done, with both his meal and this conversation, "Why do you think I care about any of that?"

Sylvain looks perplexed, "Because… you're my friend and my reputation matters to you?" Slowly, Sylvain's expression changes to one of understanding. Voice lowered, he says, "Oh. Or do these kinds of topics still make you uncomfortable? I thought you might have grown out of it by now."

Felix can feel heat creeping up his neck, into his cheeks, despite how desperately he doesn't want it to be there. It isn't that he's uncomfortable with sexual topics, just that he's disinterested in them. He'd prefer not to discuss them at all, but with Sylvain, there's always some innuendo to interpret or knowing look to decipher. Sylvain flirts because it's what he's become known for; it's a self-fulfilling prophecy.

"Your exploits don't interest me." Felix says sternly, "I only care that you don't train enough. You're going to get yourself hurt one of these days."

Sylvain smiles at him fondly, "See, I knew you cared!"

Felix rolls his eyes. Of course he cares. He cares so,  _ so _ much.

  
  
  
  


Maintaining a lifelong friendship can be difficult in the best of times, but it becomes especially difficult during turbulent teenage years, and can only be complicated by political unrest and interpersonal drama. Staying friends with Sylvain is, at times, particularly trying.

Sylvain, for all that he proclaims to love the company of others, is often stunningly bad at reading a room. He tells ill-timed jokes and pokes fun at sensitive topics. He flirts with uninterested parties and merely laughs off their irritation. For as much as he is the friendlier half of their friendship, Sylvain seems to muck up more situations with his big mouth than Felix does with his sarcasm and coldness.

At eighteen, Felix feels as though he should be treated as an adult. He's a competent student, a skilled swordsman, and a level headed, responsible young man. He has also, however, completely run out of patience for Sylvain's act.

In light of all the looming problems on the horizon, for the Kingdom at large and for their friends, Sylvain has taken to wearing his most charming smile almost constantly, determined to feign a carefree attitude in the face of what will almost certainly be a future full of turmoil.

Felix, sensible as he is, can't stand it. With every passing day he sees the true Sylvain less and less, and the effort of maintaining the mask wears on his friend more and more.

"No one asked you to do that." He snaps one morning as the two of them take inventory of the armory. Sylvain's been cracking jokes all morning and Felix is on edge, "We all know we're in a shit situation, you don't have to pretend things are okay."

"I'm just keeping up a positive attitude." Sylvain says with a lazy shrug, "Honestly Felix, I think  _ you _ could stand to smile a little more." He winks, as if reflexively, "You have a surprisingly nice smile."

Felix scowls that much harder. He particularly dislikes  _ this _ part of Sylvain's act; the flirtatious charmer. It's usually reserved for girls, but for some reason Sylvain has no qualms about turning it on him, too. He's half-convinced that Sylvain is doing it on purpose to tease him, trying to get his hopes up when he'll never follow through because he just doesn't see Felix that way.

He hates to think that his friend could really be so cruel, but then, he isn't sure he really knows him at all anymore. It's more appealing to think he's just oblivious, but even that isn't particularly comforting.

He's still not over the time that Sylvain actually had the gall to say that he was cute as a kid, making his heart stutter and his stomach twist, only to follow it up by comparing him to a  _ baby brother _ , of all things.

Felix had hoped that he and Sylvain were at least on equal footing as friends, but to think of Sylvain viewing him as a troublesome brother is mortifying. The only thing worse than harboring feelings for a friend who just happens to not reciprocate them is harboring feelings for someone who considers you a younger sibling.

"You're shameless." He says now, turning his back on Sylvain to take stock of the longswords.

"Aw, don't be like that." Sylvain whines, but Felix ignores him.

If he's focused on his duties, on the coming battle, he doesn't need to think about how much it hurts to lose someone when they're right there beside you.

  
  
  
  


The war separates a lot of people. Family, friends, lovers; no one is safe when the entire world seems to be going up in flames. But while everything around them has become increasingly complicated, things are finally simple between Felix and Sylvain, who stay surprisingly close as the battlefield threatens to tear itself apart beneath their feet.

Being back in the same age range is a big part of it. The twenty-something years blur together even in the best of times, and with so much going on, the gap that grew through their teenage years shrinks down to almost nothing.

Their friendship isn't like it was when they were children-- Felix suspects nothing can go back to the way it used to be, but it levels out to a place of greater respect and understanding. They fight alongside each other, simple and straightforward. 

Sylvain is still a hopeless flirt, but at the monastery, among people they've known forever, and who know Sylvain too well to believe the act he puts on, his skirt chasing is significantly toned down. He's more serious in general to reflect the situation they're facing, which is a refreshing change.

Around Felix, Sylvain is careful, treating their time together off the battlefield like a respite from fighting, a much-needed break that could be interrupted at any moment. At first Felix thinks he's grown wiser with age, but after taking a nasty blow from a flail, when Sylvain is limping along with an arm slung around Felix's shoulders for support, hunched from the height difference, Felix realizes what's really going on.

Sylvain has a certain level of disregard for his safety that has always made Felix uncomfortable, and now, with death at their doorstep every other day, his tendency toward recklessness is more concerning than ever.

Perhaps for that very same reason, or perhaps just because he's gotten older and more mature, Felix has been practicing patience and trying to express himself more freely.

"You'd better not fucking die." He tells Sylvain over dinner, leveling a glare at the bandages still wrapped around his friend's ribs and showing through his open shirt.

Sylvain looks up from the dense bread he's saturating with gravy and feigns an innocent expression, "Why would I go and do a thing like that? You worry too much, Felix."

"I worry a reasonable amount, considering how you've been flinging yourself into danger recently."

"I'm just doing my part." Sylvain says, and takes a bite of bread.

"Well you could do it less recklessly." Felix huffs, "Remember our promise."

Sylvain smiles slightly, nodding in acknowledgement, "I'm not going to die without you if I can help it. I may not have big plans for life after the war, but I still want to live it."

Life after the war… Felix frowns at the uncertainty the phrase seeds in him. At the moment the outcome of all this fighting is still very uncertain. The tides of war can change in an instant, and there's no telling what tomorrow will bring. 

"Even if it means doing what's expected of you?" Felix asks, gently prying. 

Sylvain is caught off guard by the question. He considers, eventually answering with a sigh, "If you mean doing my duty to House Gautier and settling down with a good match, then… yes, I suppose. How about you, Felix? Are you planning to lead the life you should?"

There's a hint of humor in his voice as he asks, as if he already knows the answer, but Sylvain still laughs out loud when Felix scoffs.

"I don't intend to do anything just to appease others."

Sylvain grins at him, "If only I were as brave as you."

"It's not bravery," Felix counters, "Just stubbornness."

"So you have no desire to take a wife?" Sylvain asks, and though he's still smiling Felix can tell he's not teasing for once, "Or a husband?"

Felix frowns, "I didn't say that, it's just that I won't marry for the sake of politics."

"So you'd marry for love?" Sylvain's smile is soft, affectionate, "Felix, that so sweet."

Felix blushes, "Yes," He says sarcastically, "I'm a real romantic."

Sylvain's smile twists, just slightly, a dead giveaway that he's hiding something. With a practiced nonchalance, he asks, "I'd make a good husband, wouldn't I?"

Felix tenses. Sylvain had asked him the same question once before, more or less. He'd been joking then, trying to get a rise out of his easily flustered friend. Now though, there's a longing to his voice that betrays his hopefulness.

Sylvain wants to be in love. He always has. His personal hang ups about his crest might warn him away from serious relationships, but at his core, he truly does want love.

Felix swallows the sudden lump in his throat. He has to remind himself that Sylvain isn't teasing, isn't poking fun to make him turn red. His friend has asked a serious question and Felix gives him a serious answer, one he's spent probably too much time considering on his own.

"Putting aside how incredibly annoying you can be, yes, you do seem like you would make a good husband." Felix remarks as calmly as he can manage, "You're very… attentive."

Though speaking that thought into existence makes Felix flush hotly, it's Sylvain who seems to have been left flustered for once. His mouth is slightly agape, a hint of pink creeping into his cheeks as he stares at Felix, somehow stunned by the admission.

"Thanks." Sylvain says eventually, speaking softly, as if the words must be handled with care, "For what it's worth, I think you'd make a good husband too."

He still isn't joking, and Felix isn't sure what to do with that. He gives a noncommittal shrug in response as his stomach becomes a swarm of butterflies.

  
  
  
  


Felix's father dies-- dies protecting the King, no less. This time, for this loss, Felix does not cry.

He grieves, yes, but he doesn't cry. He can't seem to summon tears for his father amidst all the complicated feelings he has about him. He's saddened by the loss, wishes that things were different, but still, he is not moved to tears.

He handles it well, but Sylvain still comes to comfort him regardless, as he did when Glenn died. He brings wine, this time, and Felix is just weary enough to accept it without complaint.

He doesn't drink much, and abhors the idea of getting  _ drunk _ , especially with Sylvain, but he appreciates the gesture and the chance to raise a glass with a friend. They drink to his father's memory, and for a little while he feels like a good son.

They sit up talking well into the night, just reminiscing as the halls of the monastery fall silent around them. There are plenty of good memories between the two of them, and a number of bad ones too, and as Felix lingers over a single glass, Sylvain pours himself another, then another.

Slightly drunk, Sylvain loses the ability to act. When he smiles and laughs over memories of summers spent getting into trouble together, it's entirely genuine. And when he stumbles onto a less pleasant memory, the way it eats at him can't simply be brushed away.

"I'm really not as promiscuous as people say, you know." Sylvain says, apropos of nothing, and the comment makes Felix sit up straighter in surprise.

"Why are you bringing that up all of a sudden?" Felix asks, frowning. He had thought that particular conversation was over and done with, and that they had an understanding; Sylvain didn't explicitly confirm or deny any rumors about his sex life and Felix didn't ask. 

Sylvain shrugs, "It bothers me."

Felix deflates a little, sinking back against his chair. Though he's never engaged in spreading rumors, he's as guilty as anyone of calling Sylvain a skirt-chaser. It's always felt like the equivalent of Sylvain calling him uptight, just a trading of barbs. He wants to say that he didn't realize it bothered him, but that feels disingenuous.

Instead he says, "If it's any consolation, I only ever believed what you told me, not what others said about you."

Sylvain smiles wryly, "So about half truth." He breezes past Felix's look of confusion, saying, "I suppose that's good enough. I just never wanted you to think less of me."

Felix pulls a face, "What, for being a fool?"

"No, for being a whore."

The harshness of the word leaves Felix momentarily speechless. He feels like he's been struck. When he finds the words to respond his voice comes out quieter than he means it to, "I've never thought of you that way. Why would you even say that?"

Sylvain stares at him for a minute, maintaining eye contact and searching for something, never letting on to whether or not he finds it. Finally, he shifts his gaze to the bottom of his empty glass instead, saying, "Do you remember when we were kids and you still thought kissing was gross?"

"...what does that have to do with anything?"

Sylvain shrugs, "Just, you were right. It is kind of gross. Unless it's with the right person. But I've kissed a lot of the wrong people. More than just kissed."

Felix frowns, thinking of the brief moment of experimentation when he was fourteen, how he felt nothing from having another boy's lips pressed to his, "That doesn't make you a worse person."

Sylvain flinches. He tries for one of his forced, winning smiles, but comes up short, "Still feels awful, though. I wish I could take some of those things back. Mostly the ones I didn't ask for."

It takes a moment for Felix to process what was said, but once he does, anger lances through him, hot and blinding. If Sylvain was touched by someone without asking, if someone  _ hurt _ him--

"When?" Felix asks, keeping his voice low, "Who?"

Sylvain shakes his head, "Don't worry about it, it was a long time ago."

"If I had known I would have done something."

"We were  _ kids _ , Felix, what could you have done?"

The anger burning through Felix's veins turns quite suddenly to icy horror. When they were  _ kids _ ? 

All the wrongness of their younger years come into sharp focus; the parties where Sylvain was passed from one noble girl to the other for consideration, the lingering touches from adult hands, the sexual knowledge he picked up so much quicker than his peers, the way he changed into a more bitter, false version of himself with every year he grew closer to adulthood.

Felix's stomach twists, anger and pity and regret melding together into a pool of dreadful feelings that his heart sinks heavily into.

If he had realized-- If he had known--

Then what? What would he have done? What could a child do? He couldn't have protected Sylvain from anything then. He can only hope to make up for things now.

"I'll kill them." Felix says flatly, a mostly empty threat. Revenge is a waste that he doesn't wish to ever be bogged down in, but the thought of anyone hurting a child,  _ his friend _ , and living to do it again makes him sick, "Anyone who so much as made you uncomfortable."

Sylvain laughs joylessly, "Defending my honor? How  _ knightly _ of you."

"It has nothing to do with honor." Felix snaps, "It's your safety that I want to protect."

His response leaves Sylvain blinking in surprise.

"Felix…" He says, a genuine smile turning up the corners of his mouth, "That's very sweet of you. I mean, there's a good chance they're dead already. The war, old age-- but it's a nice thought."

Felix blushes. He wishes that he wouldn't, just once, but there's no stopping the heat in his face, the way he grows immediately flustered from the praise, "Don't sound so surprised that I'm being nice." He grumbles, "I care about you."

Sylvain reaches over to him, taking hold of his arm in a gesture that should be fraternal but feels much too soft and reverent, "I really do mean it, Felix. Deep down, you're one of the kindest people I know."

Felix struggles not to melt right into the floor. Sylvain's hand is warm upon his arm, his thumb tracing a short path back and forth against his sleeve. He's drunk, Felix reminds himself, and surely means nothing by it.

"I'm sorry I tease you so much when you've always been so good to me."

It feels as though something snaps, then, like a leather band stretched too far. It's sort of a shock, but something of a relief too, the release of a tension he hadn't realized was weighing on him quite so much.

Felix snorts a disbelieving laugh and asks, "So you admit you've been flirting with me?"

He speaks without thinking, a rare mistake that shows itself in an instant as Sylvain's brow furrows in confusion.

"What?" Sylvain withdraws his hand, taking hold of his empty glass instead, "No, I just meant-- I was apologizing for picking on you so much. I know you hate being called names."

Everything is far, far too quiet. Felix suddenly can't seem to breath. 

"I try really hard not to flirt with you, actually." Sylvain says tentatively, "You didn't seem interested in that kind of thing and I never wanted to make you uncomfortable."

"Oh." Felix says, the simple word coming out choked and hoarse. 

Silence stretches between them for a moment, until Sylvain breaks into a smile, attempting to salvage the mood with a light, teasing tone, "But if you  _ want  _ me to flirt with you, I will."

It's a joke. It's always a joke with him, and he doesn't even mean anything by it, and all Felix can do is swallow ill-advised words and pray that the blush leaves his face.

His prayers go unanswered, however, and after another uncomfortably quiet moment, Sylvain sits bolt upright, as if shocked.

"Oh--" Sylvain seems suddenly more aware, sobering up as he realizes what's happening, "Felix, do you actually  _ like _ me?"

"No." Felix answers sharply, knowing all too well how flustered he must still look, "You were right, I'm not interested in that kind of thing."

Sylvain levels him with a look of uncertainty, barely able to contain his growing smile, "Right, of course. Zero interest in any of that." He says, nodding, "But… do you  _ like  _ me?

"What are we, children?" Felix snaps, only growing more embarrassed as it becomes clear that Sylvain isn't going to let this go easily. Perhaps, he thinks miserably, it's for the best to get it over with and clear the air. It's been a night of secrets and revelations already. He should be brave, decisive, just the way he is in battle, "Alright, fine, I admit I've always been a bit… infatuated with you. I never expected anything to come of it.

Felix spits the words out like poison, but their lackluster delivery doesn't seem to dampen Sylvain's reception of them.

He just breaks into a grin and says, "Well, if you should ever want to explore that infatuation, I'll be here."

The heat in Felix's face intensifies until he's fairly certain he can feel it creeping down his neck, "I see all you needed to lift your mood was to hassle me." He snaps, if only to avoid having to give an actual response. He can barely process the offer that Sylvain just made, let alone begin to consider it.

"You always make me feel better, Felix." Sylvain says with a wink, "But I promise you I'm not joking. We're both adults, here. We can make decisions about our relationship."

"Friendship." Felix hastily corrects.

"Still a relationship." Sylvain counters, "And it's one I don't want to risk. I'm not going to pressure you into anything or make fun of you." He reaches out to him again, this time brushing the backs of his fingers against Felix's face, stroking his cheek tenderly, "You're too precious."

Perhaps Sylvain hasn't really sobered up at all. Whether he's in his right mind or not doesn't stop Felix from shivering at the touch.

Sylvain withdraws his hand, almost regretfully, "It's late. We should get to bed. I'm sure you have training in the morning."

" _ You _ have training in the morning." Felix reminds him, but the reprimand he intends comes out sounding weak and childish.

Sylvain just smiles at him, expression unreadable, as he stashes away the remainder of the wine.

They leave it at that for the moment.

  
  
  
  


When the world is at peace, it becomes easier to figure out things beyond battle strategy and burying the dead. Once the fighting is done and life has gotten back to relative normalcy, there's time to sort out personal matters.

Felix takes over as the head of House Fraldarius, a change that is only slightly overwhelming, and it isn't long before he has visitors. Or rather, one visitor in particular.

Sylvain continuously finds reasons to travel out to House Fraldarius; he was overseeing a rebuilding effort and just happened to be in the area, or there was an important message that needed to be delivered to the Duke and thought it best to hand deliver it himself, or he wanted to extend an invitation to House Gautier's harvest feast and it was so much easier to just come over in person than send word by a carrier hawk.

He's making excuses, is what he's doing. He wants reasons to ignore his own duties in favor of pestering Felix.

Not that Felix really minds. There is something undeniably appealing about finding Sylvain in his doorway every few months, looking up into his eyes and seeing the determination there. What exactly he hopes to achieve by coming here, Felix isn't sure, but with every visit it feels as though they come somehow closer to a place of understanding.

It is on one of these visits, where Felix is acting as if Sylvain's sudden appearance is an imposition even as he invites him in, that Sylvain finally runs out of excuses.

"I just wanted to see you." He says, far too earnestly.

There's a quality to his voice, somehow uncertain, that makes Felix tense, gripped suddenly by nerves. A spike of panic, a holdover from the war with its constant threat of death, races through him.

"Why? What's wrong?"

All he can think is that a new threat has broken out, that people are in danger, that Sylvain is about to throw himself into something stupid that he might not survive.

"Whoa, it's not like that!" Sylvain insists, throwing up his hands in an appeasing gesture, "Nothing's wrong, I just wanted to see your face."

Felix hesitates, slow to trust that the peace they fought so long for can truly last. Sylvain appears to be speaking honestly, though, "Fine then. You've seen it."

Sylvain smiles, hands dropping to his sides in relief, "Same old Felix," He says fondly, "Always so friendly."

Felix scoffs, "I welcomed you into my home, didn't I?"

Sylvain opens his mouth to say something, clearly thinks better of it, and simply laughs instead.

"What?" Felix asks, tension ebbing slowly out of him as he readjusts to the idea of things being alright, of Sylvain here and alive, visiting just for fun, "If you have something to say, say it."

Sylvain shakes his head, frustrating Felix to no end with his avoidance, "I was just thinking of a joke."

"Naturally."

"But I doubt you'd find it funny," He continues, "And besides, I have something more important to say, if you'll hear me out."

Felix narrows his eyes, suspicious, "Out with it, then."

Sylvain looks down at him, eyes round in- surprise? Fear? It's a difficult emotion to pin down, unfamiliar on his face. He's not acting like himself, but not quite like the version of himself he usually performs as either. This is a different sort of Sylvain, entirely unique, and Felix isn't sure how to feel about being, perhaps, the only one who gets to see it.

"I want to ask permission to pursue you." Sylvain says, "Romantically."

Felix takes in a quick breath that doesn't quite make it down to his lungs.

"I meant what I said back at Garreg Mach," Sylvain continues, "I don't want to pressure you. I just want to present myself as... an option."

Felix can't quite force himself to meet Sylvain's eyes. What he'd really like to do is brush him off and spend some quality time taking a training dummy apart with his sword, maybe spend another five years thinking things over, anything to put off being so painfully vulnerable in front of Sylvain.

"Idiot," He says instead of running away from this the way he wants to, the way he would never run from anything else, "You were always the only option."

Sylvain lights up. His eyes are bright, his smile wide when he asks, "Is that a yes?"

"It's--" Felix huffs in frustration, "It's just… the truth. You're the only person I've ever considered in that way, but even then--"

"Even then?" Sylvain prompts, his tone gentle.

Felix shrugs exaggeratedly, his face going hot even before he can get the words out, "I don't know if I want to be… intimate."

Sylvain clearly struggles not to laugh. Luckily for him, he manages to maintain his composure. Eventually, he clears his throat and repeats, "Intimate. Is that why you've never pursued  _ me _ ?"

Felix feels as though he's on fire. It's unfair that Sylvain should be able to come into his home and make him, a grown man, a  _ duke _ for goddess' sake, so flustered. He eventually grits out a response, "You were always… otherwise engaged. And I assumed that aspect of a relationship would be important to you."

"The intimacy." Sylvain says, seeking confirmation.

Felix puts his head in his hands, briefly, breathing through his embarrassment and frustration, " _ Yes _ , Sylvain. The intimacy. I don't know if I want to  _ fuck _ you. Or anyone for that matter."

A moment of silence stretches between them. Felix expects Sylvain to laugh this off as a misunderstanding and be on his way. Instead, he hears, 

"That's alright." 

Felix looks up to meet Sylvain's eyes, searching for some hint of disappointment or annoyance, "What?"

Sylvain shrugs, "I don't really care about all that. It's… kind of a sore spot for me, to be honest. Sure, I like it, but--" He sighs and shakes his head, "Felix, all that matters is whether or not you care for me. Because I care for you, and I think we could make each other happy. I don't need to know if you want to have sex with me or not, I just need to know if you, you know--"

"If I what?"

"If you love me." Sylvain's voice breaks on the last word. He winces, forcing a chagrined smile, "I'm… not sure anyone has. Before."

Felix's heart pounds against his chest, his pulse too loud in his own ears. Love? Yes, that is what they're talking about, isn't it? It's what they've been avoiding all these years. It's what caught hold of him when he was still a child and stuck, growing and changing and learning, but never straying from its original inspiration.

"Of course I love you." He says, as if it should be obvious, "I wouldn't put up with you otherwise."

Sylvain blinks down at him, brow furrowed in confusion, as if he isn't sure he heard him correctly.

"I  _ love _ you, Sylvain." Felix tries again, and the words still sound harsh, unfamiliar, but he means them with his whole heart.

Sylvain's smile is, at first, unsure, but as Felix's words sink in it becomes radiant. He looks as though he might speak, but instead he surprises Felix by sweeping him into his arms and hugging him tightly, lifting him slightly off the floor.

Felix makes an indignant sound, all set to complain, but the sound of Sylvain speaking, nearly in a whisper, the words muffled where he has tucked his face in against Felix's neck, make him stop and hold his breath.

"I love you too." He's saying, so softly that it could just be Felix's imagination. Felix has heard Sylvain make declarations of love before; sweeping, poetic speeches about girls whose names he didn't even know. This is different. This is private, just for the two of them, and the relief in Sylvain's voice makes Felix weak in the knees.

When Sylvain sets him down he nearly trips from shock, which prompts Sylvain to laugh and grab him by the shoulders, keeping him upright. 

Felix plants his feet firmly against the ground to prove that he can stand on his own, immediately falling into his favored fighting stance. But rather than strike out at Sylvain, he places a hand against his chest. steadying him in return.

He has to move out of his stance and reach to kiss Sylvain, but once their lips meet for just a moment, he falls back into position, serious, appraising.

Sylvain, amusingly, looks startled.

Felix thinks back on his first kiss, shared with a boy he didn't care for, and how it left him feeling blank and bored, slightly uncomfortable from the wet sound of mouths being pressed together.

Kissing Sylvain feels-- not entirely different, honestly. He had always sort of hoped that it would. But it doesn't spark anything in him, and the slight moisture is still off putting. Seeing Sylvain's expression afterward, however, soft and affectionate, somehow fulfilled, makes his stomach flip with longing. He wants to put that look on Sylvain's face again, every day if he can.

"So," Sylvain says, somewhat dazedly, "Is  _ that _ a yes? May I pursue you?"

Felix smiles, just slightly. In truth, there is no need for pursuit. Sylvain already has him. But that isn't how things are done, and far be it for him to make things easy.

"You may." He answers with a nod, and in an instant Sylvain has pulled him into another crushing embrace. It's a little much, all this physical contact, all the emotion behind it, but for the first time in years, hell, in a  _ decade _ , Felix feels just as free and happy as he did once upon a time.

:

  
  
  



End file.
